


i'm a captain on a jealous sea

by devilinmybrain (venomedveins)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A little exhibition, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry, Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Fighting, Jealousy, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/devilinmybrain
Summary: It’s not that Louis doesn’t like Nick. He is, if he’s being honest, kind of indifferent. Louis gets that Nick is just doing his job most of the time, being loud and prying, not having boundaries. But it’s just a little too much for Louis’ taste. Louis, who has learned over the years, when to be loud and when to know that coy is the game. But, it doesn’t matter really. He’s not required to like everyone, doesn’t have to make nice with them outside of having a camera shoved in his face. He can let Nick be Nick and it shouldn’t affect Louis at all.Except.What Louis actually has a problem with is the way Nick Grimshaw looks at Harry.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 281





	i'm a captain on a jealous sea

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not gonna lie, this was supposed to be shorter than what it was. I was just gonna write a little jealous!Louis fic. Something short and snappy. And then I got layered in with angst and self reflection and yeah. I still ended it happy though. 
> 
> Big thanks to Lulu who isn't even in this fandom but read my stuff and helped remind me that I, too, am a jealous asshole so I should be able to write one. Thanks for watching me spiral into a larry cave of wonders. 
> 
> Also a lovely and heartfelt thank you to Aria, who had to listen to me whine about not being a good writer and being insecure in writing larry. You've been so lovely and I hope you like this as much as I hyped it up. 
> 
> Also, sorry Nick Grimshaw. But like, not sorry?

It’s become the norm now, a means to an end. People come to visit them on tour all the time. Old friends or family alike show up, stay over, and then they disappear back to their lives – back to their normal hometowns and familiar beds. It’s the only way some of them get to the see the boys. They’ve never home long enough for a proper visit, so they have to make do with stolen moments between shows, in random cities, squeezing in as much as they can with a sibling or a childhood friend. It keeps them connected to something outside of the life on the road, of the thousand, anonymous and screaming faces each night. 

Louis had his crew up from Doncaster a few months ago, all the lads who hadn’t been to the states before and could fit on a commercial airline invited. They’d fucked around in Vegas for two full days, gambled way too much money, drank more than their share, and Louis is pretty sure at one point he got to pet a live tiger. He was very drunk. He can’t really remember. 

It shouldn’t be a big deal then, when he comes in from a smoke with Zayn and one of the techs, to see Nick Grimshaw sprawled out over the couch in their dressing room. He’s wearing an obnoxiously bright jumper – a hideous mess of geometric shapes and neon lines. It’s like a beacon in an otherwise calm, serene space. Louis has to pause a little in the doorway to make sense of it, the weed making his brain a little foggy, observing Nick taking these loud, little slurps from his large Starbucks cup. 

It’s not that Louis doesn’t like Nick. He is, if he’s being honest, kind of indifferent. Louis gets that Nick is just doing his job most of the time, being loud and prying, not having boundaries. But it’s just a little too much for Louis’ taste. Louis, who has learned over the years, when to be loud and when to know that coy is the game. But, it doesn’t matter really. He’s not required to like everyone, doesn’t have to make nice with them outside of having a camera shoved in his face. He can let Nick be Nick and it shouldn’t affect Louis at all. 

_Except._

What Louis actually has a problem with is the way Nick Grimshaw looks at Harry. 

And like, fuck, Louis gets it. He fucking gets it. Louis is pretty sure that Harry Styles is the reason the sun rises, that the stars themselves would fall out of the sky if Harry so much as asked them. But Louis gets to think that, gets to daydream about _little romantic things_ like the dimple in Harry’s cheek, about his sleep soft voice calling Louis’ name, of the smooth skin at the base of his spine looking pale in the moonlight. Louis knows these places, has left his mark and his love all over them. 

Nick, well, he isn’t as subtle as he likes to think he is. He drags his eyes down Harry’s half naked body, watches him debating about which shirt he’s going to wear tonight, holding up one to his chest after another. And Nick’s not watching him without intent. It’s like he’s assessing a piece of art, head cocked, eyebrow raised. Like it’s all for him. His own private show. 

Louis feels a little better, but only marginally, when he notices the line of love bites down Harry’s chest. They’re a sporadic pattern with a particularly dark one just to the left of his ribs, under his birdcage. Louis’ teeth ache just thinking about how long it took to get it that dark, how it much ache every time Harry twists around. 

“I don’t see why you even bother.” Nick is saying, hooks his sneaker on the edge of the coffee table. “No one wants you to put one on.”

“Hilarious.” Harry drawls, tosses a soft raspberry colored shirt over onto a chair. “There are children out there.” 

“That’s their parents’ faults.” Nick gives a short little scoff. “Give ‘em a show.”

“I am. A music show. You know. They come to hear the music.” Harry explains with a slow sigh. He rejects another shirt, this one a plain, long sleeve with gray stitching. 

“Hate to break it to you, mate.” Nick starts, mock sympathy dripping from his words. “But they come to see you shake your ass-“

Louis makes a point of letting the door go, the metal heavy as it slams back into place, interrupting whatever else Nick was about to say. Both men jump, by while Grimmy turns his head around on the couch, Harry only raises his eyes in the mirror, lets that slow, fond look take over his face when he meets Louis’ gaze. They’ve only been apart for maybe an hour, at most, and it suddenly feels like way too long. 

“I was wondering where the unfathomable Louis Tomlinson was.” Nick waves a lazy drumming of his fingers, his grin spreading wide. 

“Always around.” Louis gives him a tight-lipped smile, feels more like a reminder than a greeting, and steps around the table. 

If Harry knows why, he doesn’t let on. He just lets Louis kiss him how he wants - a little rough, biting at his bottom lip, and using more tongue than necessary. It gets the desired effect though, Harry’s hand turning possessive, slipping along the back of Louis’ neck, pulling them flush together. When Louis pulls back a few moments later, he’s sends him a wink, Harry’s stolen gum now between Louis’ teeth. There is very little left of boundaries between them. 

“Hey love.” Louis ignores the man on the couch, fits his hand into the soft dip of Harry’s waist. And god. It’s gotta be the pot. Or the love swelling up in Louis’ chest, because he could get caught up in it. All the ways they fit together, easy as falling into place. Can feel himself get a little sappy, a thousand love songs just waiting to have ink on paper. 

“You taste like weed.” Harry wrinkles his nose but doesn’t pull away. He just relaxes, lets their sides press together, bare skin on the cool fabric of Louis’ Adidas jacket. 

“Now I taste like you.” Louis grins, snaps his stolen gum. Harry doesn’t seem to have a response, eyes flickering down to Louis’ mouth. And god, Louis kind of wants to kiss Harry again, kind of wants to drag him off to some darkened corner and watch him fall apart under Louis’ careful but dedicated hands. But just when he’s considering how difficult it will be to get them past security, that voice interrupts them again. 

“I’m glad you’re here. You can help convince him. I was just telling our _darling_ here that we should go out tonight. To celebrate me being here.” Nick spreads his arms out over the back of the couch, sprawled and easy looking. Like he’s used to this. Like he belongs here. “It’ll be fun. American clubs are always better. All that excess ya know?” 

“Don’t think management will be keen, eh?” Louis doesn’t look back at him, instead keeps staring up at Harry, tucks a long curl behind his ear. Sometimes, and not just when he’s high, Louis gets kind of mesmerized by Harry’s face. “You want to go out, pet?”

“Could be okay.” Harry shrugs a little, ducks his head in a way that makes Louis think he actually really wants to go. And _fuck._ “We haven’t in a long time.”

“It’s not like we’ve had the chance.” Louis tries to defend, feels bad. Because that’s not actually true. Louis has had the chance. Louis and Zayn or Louis and Liam. But it’s never Louis and Harry. There rules about that. Strict, contractual rules.

“We’ve been good though.” Harry murmurs, keeps his voice low and earnest like Grimmy isn’t sitting six feet away, keenly listening in. “We could be careful. Pick somewhere safe. No cameras inside.” 

It goes unspoken but hangs there like a fucking anvil over their heads. Harry’s not wrong. They have been good, _really good._ No major slip ups other than a few stolen glances on stage, could be passed off by a blinding trick of the light really. Long gone are the days when Louis couldn’t get through a show without touching Harry as he walked by, no fingers on wrists or a hand on his waist. When Harry had always been next to him, against him, seeking him out to guide him through all this. 

“I want to dance with you.” Harry nudges his knee against Louis’, smiles that little smile again, the one that makes Louis kind of forget all the reasons not to. “Like we used to.”

“Sweetheart.”

It has been a bit since the last time they were able to choose something for themselves, something that they actually wanted to do. It’s an anomaly when plans and activities are usually laid out in emails or phone calls for them. Some other person planning where they’re going, with who, when, and what they’re wearing. It’s like a role in a play – always poised and perfect – except it’s real life and if they fuck it up, there is always hell to pay. 

Sighing a little, Louis trails his fingertips up Harry's spine, leans into him further. He doesn't really want to think about the logistics of all of this. They have a show in less than two hours - the stadium already starting to fill above them. Louis would much rather spend the time getting Harry down on the couch, reassuring him with slow kisses and wandering hands until someone inevitably comes to retrieve them. He doesn't need an audience for this, especially one that pointedly clears his throat when he's not been given attention. 

“Come on Lou. If it’s a security thing, I’m sure they’ll figure it out. Practically used to it by now, with you lot, eh?” Nick waves a dismissive hand, making it a point to grin wide up at them. “Besides, it’s New York City, paps are basically on every street corner. We’ll sweeten the deal. We all know your management loves a good walk.”

“I’ll do it.” Harry volunteers, his fingers reaching up to trace along the edge of Louis’ jaw, caressing a thumb along his ear. “It’s alright.”

“Such a gentleman.” Nick boasts, eyebrows raised. “And a martyr.”

“It’s my turn.” Harry explains, flicks his gaze away from Louis for just a moment. “Louis did Boston. Liam did Pittsburgh.”

“No, it’s not. You did that one in Jersey.” Louis leans in, presses his mouth to the hinge of Harry’s jaw, just where the bone has gone sharp. He’s still feeling it, the hazy warmth of his high, so he gets kind of entangled in the small gasp Harry lets out, shudders a bit. It’s where Louis wants Harry’s attention – all on him, all of the time. Craves it constantly. 

“But you hate it. And New York is always the worst. And they’ll make you go with girls and-“ Harry is pouting when Louis leans back to look at him. “And it was my idea, honey.” 

“Look, Tommo.” Nick starts, sets his elbow on his knee so he’s closer. Louis flinches at the nickname, just a tiny scowl, trying to remember if they’re on a nickname basis now. Are Nick and him even really friends? Or just friends because of Harry? “Listen, mate, if it makes you feel better, what sort of bestie would I be if I let dear Haz here sacrifice himself to the wild animals of the American paparazzi alone? It’ll be good press for me too.”

“I’m twenty years old, Nick. I’ve been doing this for a long time.” Harry rolls his eyes, reaches up to fluff his hair. It’s particularly curly today, the edges of it just barely brushing onto his shoulders. Louis can smell it from here, minty with a hint of strawberries. “I’m a professional, yeah?”

“You’re practically a baby.” Nick croons and Louis is sure if he were standing, he would have pinched Harry’s cheek by now. “We’ll do it together. Get some good press in, all smiles and such. Distract anyone from noticing Louis slipping in the back. Hell, bring the rest of the lads. We’ll make a night of it.”

“How generous of you.” Louis bristles, feels his mouth do that tight, thin smile again. The sass is natural to him at this point. He’s always had very little filter when it comes to his mouth, something all the media training in the world couldn’t completely beat out of him. He’s too quick, gets in these sharp, little stabs with a well-placed eyeroll. 

“Ah, cheers.” Nick raises his coffee cup in a mock salute, wiggles his eyebrows. “Figures it’s only fair since it was my idea and I’m allowed.” 

It's like the air is suddenly gone from the room, the dark walls oppressive and thick. Louis' stomach is rolling, that sick and hot feeling coasting down the back of his neck. Against his side, Harry has gone still, the fingers that had been tracing along the back of Louis' neck hesitating just inside his hairline. And if Nick Grimshaw wasn't a DJ, he should be a sharp shooter - hitting the perfect bullseye on all of Louis' bruises. 

"What?"

It comes out harsh, accent thick so the T gets swallowed up in the middle of Louis' mouth. He's turned enough that he can level Nick with a slowly raised eyebrow, waiting for him to repeat it, waiting for him to actually expand on what he fucking just implied. 

“Ah mate, didn’t mean anything.” Holding his hands up in front of him, Nick grimaces at first Louis and then looks at Harry like he’ll help. “I just meant, ya know, since you’re not allowed out together. I didn’t mind filling in.”

“Louis.” Harry murmurs, fingertips just barely digging in on the curve of his neck. He already knows what’s going to happen though before it does as Louis gives a sharp, bark of a laugh, tossing his head back. 

"Right. _Mate._ "

The high is starting to wear off, buzz drooping until all Louis feels is itchy, too tight in his skin, too aware of the vanity lights behind him. Grimmy is just staring at him with wide eyes, pushing off the couch to get to his feet. He's giving these little aborted glances at Harry too, like he'll step in, like he'll save him from it. But Louis can feel everything, too much, and the words are bubbling in his throat, building and building. He knows this is going to piss Harry off. And he hates going on stage when they're fighting, hates everything feeling off and awkward, but he can't fucking help it.

“And you know so much, innit?” Louis spits, can feel the venom in the words, coating over his tongue. “Any other private information you know about my relationship you’re wanting to throw around? Some other way you think to help? To, what did you call it, _fill in_?”

“Lou, he didn’t mean it like that.” Harry mutters, turns his hand on Louis’ neck into gently petting over his shoulder. “He’s just trying to-”

“I’m well aware of what he’s trying to do. _Thanks._ ” Louis pulls out of Harry’s grasp, fits his arms tight over his chest. “You’re kind of fucking obvious, Grimshaw.”

“Hey, man, no need to be rude. I’m only trying to help you out. Not my fault you’re all tied up in contracts and NDAs. Besides.” Nick squares his shoulders back like the mere inch his has on Louis will do anything. Louis isn’t some scrawny kid picking fights on the playground he’s too small to finish. “If Harry wants to be seen with me, he can.”

“What?” Louis asks, squares his feet apart. If they’re going to fight, then they might as well do it properly. “He’s ten years younger than you, asshole. What are you doing?”

“I don’t think you know-“ Nick starts, points his finger directly at Louis like he’s making an important point, but Louis is too quick to let him finish. 

“Oh, I think I know _plenty._ ”

“Come on. Don’t.” Harry finally interjects, shifts awkwardly just behind Louis. He won’t step between them, but raises his hand to tug on Louis’ sleeve, making a soft disgruntled noise. “This is all just a misunderstanding.” 

He's saved from having to say anything else by the dressing room door flying open, hitting the opposite wall with a sharp bang. Niall is already dashing in with a grin and a shouted "Grimmy!" and then Liam is charging behind him. Nick is around the couch in an instant, pulling the boys into hugs, cheery and bright. It’s like the last few moments haven’t even happened. Only Zayn seems to pick up on something going on, his dark eyes cutting over to Louis with an interesting gleam. Louis can't get his teeth unstuck from one another, grits so tight his jaw aches from it. 

Harry isn’t looking at him anymore, has his arms crossed over his chest, bottom lip between his teeth. He’s upset, blatantly, but there is little to be done. Damage already inflicted. Louis feels his feet moving before he really recognizes it, stomps around the low table, making his way to the door. He needs out. Needs out right fucking now. Before his mouth opens and it all comes spilling out, all those nasty little words that always linger in the back of his brain. 

"Lou. Louis, where are you going?" It's Harry, his voice soft but urgent. He's still standing by the mirror, hand clutching those shirts, the silky fabric wrinkling in his fist. Louis doesn't let himself look long, already feels like shit, just throws him a glance over his shoulder. 

"Goin' for a smoke."

"You just came in. Honey, it's cold out. Wait." Harry protests now, takes half a shuffling step forward like he means to grab onto him, to stop him. He doesn't get the chance though as Louis ducks through the doorway, brushing past Zayn on the way. 

"It's called an addiction for a reason, Harold!"

His voice bounces around the stone hallway, people rushing around him, but Louis doesn't stop. He doesn't want to turn around and face it, doesn't want to see what he's sure is Harry's expression. He's probably biting his lip again, probably dropped his eyes, unsure and uncomfortable. 

It's New York City so there isn't a back lot for Louis to wallow in. He's forced to ride the lift up to a balcony off some hallway, the wind blowing hard enough he has to tuck his smoke into his shirt to be able to light it. He told his mum a while ago that he was cutting back, but Louis knows that's not really true. It's too fucking stressful, too many things always trying to frazzle his mind. He’s got to stay sharp, got to stay focused, or it all starts to get a little disjointed, a little messed up. 

A security guard followed him up, Tony, but he stays behind the glass, just watches. No one is going to get to Louis five stories up anyway. He's just another silhouette against the skyline. It grates on Louis’ nerves though. How long has it been that he’s had a private moment to himself? A moment not in a hotel room, with people waiting outside, or on a bus with security at the front? Truly alone. 

He knows he didn't mean it but _fuck Nick Grimshaw._ Fuck him for opening up an old wound that Louis has been holding together with craft glue and a fucking prayer. He has no idea what he’s talking about. Probably only heard the half of it, probably given a shitty explanation from Harry as to why Louis isn’t allowed to be near him, isn’t allowed to even allowed to travel together, _hell_ , isn’t allowed to even exist on the same realm as him even though they’re in the same band. 

Grimmy has no idea what's like to sit across the table from a half dozen men in suits telling him how wrong he is, how he's jeopardizing everything, how it's a risk not worth taking. He's too young. Too reckless. Too dumb. Hasn't had to think about what would happen if the band fell apart, how many people he'd be letting down, how many dreams left broken because he was selfish. Nick will never know what it's like to hold a seventeen-year-old Harry's hand and watch him cry until he's sick with it. Until they’re asking the hardest questions.

Louis stays out there until his fingers are numb, smokes another two cigarettes just because he can. It makes his throat itch, his tongue heavy. Reckless behavior before a show but in a world where Louis has so little control, at least there is this. Paul is probably going fucking mental with it, but when he comes to find Louis, he doesn't say much, just leads him inside with a hand on his shoulder. The lecture will come later when Louis isn't wiping tears off his face in the elevator down. 

He's late to the pre-show huddle, wedges himself against Liam's side with a wide grin and a slap to his back, tries to regain his focus on what he’s actually supposed to be doing. If Liam notices he's a bit off, he doesn't say anything, just loops an arm around Louis' shoulder, nudges their hips together. Harry and Niall have been chanting some mixed up version of God Save the Queen and Sweet Caroline, obnoxiously with their head tilted back and arms around each other. Zayn, loudly, is making sure to remind them that they're in _America_ and that Sid Vicious is turning in his grave.

It feels good, feels right. Helps sooth and balm the burn of Louis' messed up feelings. He doesn't even care that Nick is leaning on the wall, talking to Lou, eyes trained on them. And if Nick raises a snarky eyebrow at him, quick to turn his gaze on Harry, well fuck it. All Louis cares about at the moment is this - his family, his boys. 

They all throw their hands in, like a team, and shout together before disbanding. Niall makes a Mighty Ducks reference, quacking loudly as he bounds towards the hallway, the stage doors at the end with Liam hot on his heels. Zayn strolls at a much more leisurely pace, shouting something after them and then breaking into a cackle. It's part of their pre-show ritual, following each other down. But there is one more thing - something that Louis has never skipped out on, no matter what. 

He loops his arms around Harry, fits into the dip of his waist, over his broad shoulders. He's wearing a loose button up, soft peach colored with the front half buttoned. Louis wants to rub his cheek on it, wants to slip his hand underneath and pet over Harry's milky skin. He settles on pressing his mouth down between Harry's collarbones, just between the bird tattoos, before pulling him into a proper kiss.

Harry is careful not to touch Louis' hair, cups his cheeks with delicate fingers, petting over the line of stubble on Louis' jaw, his high cheekbones. He gets a little lost in it, gasps when Louis tilts his head, deepens the kiss with a tongue sliding in to trace the roof of Harry's mouth. He's always been so good at this, so good at meeting Louis in the middle, like he was made for it - like they were made for each other. There is nothing frantic about it, like exploring something familiar, something so good it makes you ache. This is muscle memory, engrained in them, part of their instincts now. 

It feels like they kiss for ages, snogging in the middle of the hallway while people rush around them, shouting and laughing. They're probably used to it now, Harry and Louis safe when they're surrounded by their crew, by their tour family. No one even glances at them as Louis shuffles forward, leans his entire body into Harry's, the tip of his Vans brushing against Harry's suede boots. 

"Love you baby. Love you so much." Louis murmurs, draws back just far enough to rub the tip of his nose against Harry's. It earns him a dimpled grin, Harry's eyes twinkling, all forgiven. Or at least forgotten, pushed aside until it rears its ugly head again. 

"Love you." Harry swoops in again, kisses him hard but closed mouth, eager as he grips the back of Louis' shirt. He only gets to do it for a moment, boyish and aggressive, before there is a loud cough and one of the handlers is standing nearby, exasperated but fond. 

"Come on boys. We've got a show, yeah?"

They untangle from one another, Louis wiping at his mouth and Harry trying to keep the grin off his face as he ruffles up his hair, tries to calm down. It's no use, his lips are red, shiny with a hint of irritation on his chin from Louis' stubble, cheeks flushed. It's so obvious. He stills gives Louis that smile though, fond and happy, as he tilts his head towards the hallway. 

"Race, ya?"

\- - - 

The frantic energy only doubles when they step off the stage, dripping with sweat but high on adrenaline. The roar of the crowd is still deafening around them, makes the concrete tremble at the stomping of feet, the screaming voices echoing along every crevice and corner of the stadium. It follows them down, deeper into the backstage, where people are constantly moving and rushing from room to room, carrying things, talking to one another. It's a well-oiled machine behind the scenes. 

The boys get hustled into a dressing room - Liam's maybe - for the debriefing. It's all very standard with comments and feedback on the show, the lights, the music, the reaction of the crowd. It's always good, always perfect. The fans were rowdy tonight, playing into the antics with lots of great signs and flags, singing along and dancing. The whole place had been buzzing with this under current of joy, elation even, like some sort of out of this world experience. 

There is barely a spare moment to breathe as Niall and Liam get shoved towards the showers while the others are shuffled around, pushed into random rooms or told to talk to someone or other. They only have an hour before they're meant to leave and meet fans, so they're going to have to move quickly. Louis doesn't even get a moment to breathe, faces blurring a little as he's handed a towel to dry off some of the water dripping from his shirt, then he's suddenly sitting on the couch in his dressing room with a Gatorade in one hand and a sandwich in the other. He’s not even sure who handed it to him.

Zayn ends up crashing into the other corner, arm thrown over his head with an audible groan. His white t-shirt sticks to his bicep, down over his chest, translucent in patches with sweat. Louis looks him over, notes how tired he looks, wiped out from performing and the travel. If they both weren't gross from the show, Louis would have half a mind to pull Zayn closer, to wrap him up in a snuggle, just a little comfort at the end of a long day. 

"Good show, yeah?" Zayn murmurs, voice rough and brittle. He unscrews his water bottle, takes a long pull from it. 

“Yeah, yeah. Great show.” Louis nods, takes another bite. But he knows that’s not the end of it. Zayn’s watching him now, has this expression on his face – eyes a little narrowed, mouth slightly tilted. He’s known Louis for too long, knows him too well.

"So." He starts, drawls the word out so it gives Louis all the build up he needs. "Grimshaw came to visit?"

"Yeah, I guess." Louis shrugs. He doesn't want to think about why he wasn't told about it. Maybe he was. Maybe he missed it? Zoned out at a meeting or a phone call? Certainly Nick talked to someone. 

"Harry invite him?" Zayn assumes, kicks his foot out on the table. He's digging in his pocket then, pulling out a pack of smokes. This isn’t technically a smoking room, but Louis isn’t going to snitch. 

"I dunno." Louis refrains from shrugging again. That little dip of energy is now starting to build back up, something brewing just under the surface. "Probably. They're friends or _whatever_."

“Whatever?” Zayn raises a brow at that, his fingers taping out a pattern on the couch where they’re resting just behind Louis’ shoulder. “I thought they were close.”

“Yeah well, bloke is old enough to have babysat him.” Louis snips, talks around the food in his mouth. “Kinda creepy when he’s leering at my boy, ya know?”

“I get it, mate, but like.” Zayn shrugs his shoulder, goes for reassuring. “It’s one sided.”

“Maybe. For now.” Louis sighs, drops his head back for a minute to stare at the ceiling. “H has other options though. Has had them for a while. Maybe he’s getting tired of the same shit every day.”

Zayn turns his head sharply, cigarette between his lips swaying with the motion. He gives Louis a different look now, eyebrows raised and assessing. Louis resists the urge to squirm under the scrutiny, picks at the edge of his bread. It's not a particularly exciting sandwich, just turkey and cheese, but it gives him something to focus on. He knows it's all written over his face as Zayn reaches out, touches his wrist gently. 

"Don't get it twisted, Tommo." Zayn says it softly, kind with those wide brown eyes of his. "He's been obsessed with you since day one."

"I wasn't-" Louis tries to defend himself. It's no use. Zayn reads him easily now. 

"You were." Zayn flicks a little at Louis ear, shaking his head fondly. "Get out of your head, mate. You know how Harry is, could charm the pants off a nun if he put himself up to it. It’s unnatural."

"Yeah." Louis hums. He knows. Harry has always been like that, sweet and sincere in a way that makes people draw to him, like flies to honey really. Louis knows that Harry doesn’t always do it intentionally, just wants to be nice, to give people the best, to please them. 

"Doesn't mean you're not his first choice, Lou. Always. Always have been." Zayn puts stress on the words, leans in even as his cigarette droops in his mouth. He still hasn't lit it, the filter getting wet around his lips. "Come on. You know that. _First choice every time._ "

"Fuck." Louis groans, tips his head back against the couch, can't keep it from slipping. "Hard to remember that when a billion people in the world would love to take my place."

“It doesn’t count if the place isn’t open.” Zayn says softly, murmurs it like a secret and a reassurance. He always knows what Louis needs to hear, puts a balm over the burn. 

Louis ends up shifting on the couch, lets his arm slump down so he’s resting it along Zayn’s shoulder, leaning into him. He’s always been a tactile sort, blames it on always having a younger sibling climbing all over him. He wants to constantly have someone against him, feeds off it. And Louis needs it now. He feels like shit for snapping at Nick, not because he didn’t deserve it, but because Harry didn’t. Harry is allowed to have friends. Harry is allowed to do and be whatever he wants and Louis wants that freedom for him. He just hates how people always want a part of it, always want to take parts of Harry for themselves. 

“Hey.” Zayn doesn't let it go, wraps his full hand around Louis' thin wrist. "We’re going out tonight, right? Get a few pints in ya. Make it all better, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis rubs his hands over his face, shaking his head. Maybe Zayn is right. Maybe he needs to stop thinking about it. Yeah, what Nick said was shit, but Louis isn’t going to let it ruin the rest of the evening. Besides, he’ll only be here for a few days, if that, enough to come in and be loud and too much and then he’ll fuck back over the pond again. Louis needs to just stop overthinking it. 

"Now, be a mate." Zayn grins wide, the filter of his cigarette perched between his teeth now, wiggling it pointedly. Louis rolls his eyes affectionally at him, uses his free hand to dig his lighter out of his pocket. He flicks it against the edge, watches Zayn's cheeks hallow as he takes the first drag. It's almost upsetting how good Zayn looks like that, brow lowered, watching the flame in front of him. In another life, well…

Louis doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought as the door opens again, the cacophony of laughter and shouting spilling into the room. Niall comes in first, talking loudly about some pub he’d been to in Belfast and a girl there with a tattoo. He’s quickly followed by Liam who's cackling loudly, a plate of food clutched in his hand. Grimmy is just behind, his arm slung over Harry, who is dripping wet and only wearing a small pair of boxers. They're tight across Harry's hips, bright red and clearly Louis'. 

Louis can't stop staring at the way Harry fits under Nick's arm, his wet hair leaving a wet patch on that obnoxious sweater. He's pink from the shower, shoulders and chest still damp, and it only makes the bruises on his ribs stand out more - violet and red. Nick is laughing loud about something Niall is saying, turns his face into Harry's neck, rests his cheek against his shoulder. Something sickly and green curls up in the base of Louis throat, chokes him as he watches Nick giggling against Harry's throat. He's so close his nose brushes the bruise Louis left just behind Harry's ear. 

The change of angle gives Harry a clear view of the couch now though, stopping abruptly just inside the door as he takes notice. Zayn is still holding onto Louis' wrist, tilted forward towards him, their bodies curved into the back of the couch. They look comfortable, intimate, like they were just whispering to one another. Anger sparks through Harry's expression, that grin slowly falling until his lips form a thin line, raising his eyebrows. Louis answers with a pointed look away, rolling his own eyes but not shaking Zayn's hand off. 

"Was wondering where you two slipped off to." Liam flops down in a free chair, tucks his plate close to him. "Showers free, lads. Best hurry."

"Not gonna lie, I'm kinda disappointed you didn't all take one together." Nick sighs dramatically, leans his head back on Harry's shoulder. He's tall enough that it's not a chore, fits against him easily. "A boy can dream, I guess." 

"What? Why?" Bewildered, Harry shakes his head at him, eyes gone wide. He's got his own arm wrapped around to rest on Nick's ribs, hand loose but tangled up in the fabric of his sweater. "That's so weird."

"All those people on twitter. All the rumors." Nick shrugs a little, playing it up. "Always going on and on about it. Do they hate each other? Do they love each other? Are they all in some _giant polygamist relationship_?"

"No!" Niall interrupts, scrunches his nose up as he tries to laugh it off. "Is that what they're really saying?"

"And worse." Nick nods seriously, gives him a wink. "Are you willing to confirm or deny the rumors that you-"

"Christ. Who invited the fucking gossip mag?" Louis cuts in, can't help the way his voice goes high and grating. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Niall suddenly whip his head around, staring at Zayn and then Liam. "Sorry to disappoint, but we mostly stick to the boring side of your fantasies, mate. No big story for you."

“Fantasies?” Nick smirks slowly, turns himself towards the couch, dragging Harry with him. “And what do you think my fantasies are, Louis?” 

“Fantasies about us?” Niall awkwardly laughs, still shooting his eyes around the room like someone will finally crack the tension. When no one does, he flops down on the edge of the table, reaches out with his fingers to steal food off Liam’s plate. 

“I think we’ve heard it all, by now.” Liam swats his fork at Niall’s hand, furrowing his brow at him. “Never good.”

“Wait, do you actually believe them? Online?” Harry asks, twists his whole body so he can see Nick’s face clearly. “Grimmy, you _know_ us. For years.”

Nick laughs loudly at that, leaning into whisper something into Harry’s ear. It earns him a small smile, just a slight tilt of Harry’s mouth as he can’t tear his eyes away from where Louis is making a point of cuddling into Zayn. The couch is large but Louis is tucked up in the middle, knee digging into Zayn’s thigh. 

“All innocent I swear.” Nick tosses a hand up, flippant. “But if you want to know…”

“No need to share. Really.” Louis rolls his eyes, meets Zayn’s amused gaze. Of course, he thinks this is funny. Louis is half a second away from tearing Nick’s arm off and Zayn is laughing at him. 

“Damn.” Nick’s grin flickers just slightly, just a hint of something that Louis would have missed if they weren’t staring at each other now. “It’s what you do though, is it, Tommo? Share?”

He makes it look natural, slips his arm down off Harry's shoulders, trails his hand along his arm until Nick can hook his palm over the dip in his waist. Stretching a little, he brushes his fingertips lightly over the very edge of Harry's laurel tattoo, just a tease really, but it makes Harry shift his weight. It's too intimate, too familiar, even hidden behind the guise of friendship. Harry's gaze flickers away from Louis then, gives Nick a startled kind of twist of his mouth, before readjusting his stance, crossing his legs. It's not enough to dislodge the touch, but enough his hand settles back on the curve of Harry's hip instead.

"No." Louis snaps, bristles with his shoulders raised tight. He wonders distantly if Harry would forgive him if he punched the grin off Nick’s face. 

"Disappointing." Grimmy laughs it off. Like it's all one big joke, a gag run too long. He turns to bump his nose against Harry’s cheek. "You promised me the real 1D experience. Prove all those rumors true. I was expecting the rock star treatment, yeah? Drinking and parties and like, orgies or something. Where is the illicit secrets the press would love to eat up?"

“We’re not the Stones, man.” Zayn exhales smoke up towards the ceiling, having to turn his head all the way to look at Nick. 

Louis stands slowly, feels Zayn's hand slip off him. God, he needs a fucking pint. Needs to physically pull Nick's arm off of Harry. Needs out of this room. He settles instead for meeting Harry's gaze, coolly pulling the cigarette out of Zayn's mouth and up to his own. It's not a nice game they’re playing, verging on cruel, as Louis wraps his lips around the filter, takes a slow pull. The paper is damp from Zayn's mouth, the tan slightly darker there, and Harry's brow falls when he sees it. Harry likes to pretend he isn't the jealous one, the one quick to staring or pushing hands off. But Louis knows that's not true. Sees the color go high on Harry's cheeks, glancing pointedly from Zayn to Louis.

"Sorry mate. You know half of what they say about us is shit." Liam speaks up then, swallowing thickly as he continues eating. "We're just five blokes from England."

"Ireland, you twat!" Niall shouts, aiming a well-placed punch to Liam's shoulder. 

They start squabbling, yelling at each other and throwing loose hands. It seems to break the tension of the room, distracted as Liam's plate tips, splatters along the side of the table and he starts shouting louder. Niall doesn't even look apologetic, tilting his head back and laughing loudly. 

Harry, blessedly, seems to finally get tired of it. He slips out from under Nick's arm with a casual side step, crosses over to the clothing rack by the wall. He's sending these side glances at Louis, a little furrow between his brows, pouting and bratty. And in other circumstances, Louis might make him suffer a little, walk away or ignore him. He's fucking pissed off, don't get him wrong, but there is something he'd much rather do. 

“Hazza.” 

Making quick steps around the couch, Louis crosses the floor and crowds up behind him. They're like two magnets, always have to end up close together, stuck by hands and hips. Someone has laid out a few 'options' for Harry and he starts to shuffle hangers aside as Louis leans into him, trails just the tips of his fingers along Harry's spine, tracing the sharp curve of his shoulder blade. It gets the desired effect, goosebumps spreading over Harry's skin with a full body shudder. 

"Baby." Louis murmurs, lays a kiss on the back of his neck. “My pretty boy.”

"Don't." Harry doesn't fully try to pull away, only rolls his shoulder like he's threatening an elbow. 

"Sweetheart." Louis tries again, layers on the cooing pet names sweetly. He knows what it does to Harry, can tell he's fighting a grin even as he tries to resist it. "You gonna be mad at me now, sunshine?"

"You're mad at me." Harry mumbles, shifts a shirt over with a sharp drag of metal on metal. "I told you he was visiting. I told you two weeks ago. You said it was fine."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it." Louis hides his rolled eyes in Harry's hair, wraps his arms around his waist. He makes a point of caressing his fingertips from the butterfly on Harry's stomach down to he laurels on his hips, tracing them with blind memory. "I don't like the way he is with you."

"He's my friend. And you're being an arse." Harry turns his head, enough to side eye Louis. "What is going on with you?"

"He's a dickhead." Louis turns his head down, rests his mouth against Harry's shoulder, presses a kiss there until his mouth curves around the bone. When he starts sucking, Harry gives another shudder, a tiny groan that floats only high enough for Louis to hear. "And he's staring at you like he's going to end up in your bed tonight."

"Hey, not gonna happen." Harry turns a little more, leans his head over so he can meet Louis' eye. "Always come home to you."

"Is that what you want-" Louis starts, only to be cut off by the loud laughter behind them. Nick's voice raises above the other boys, slapping a hand down on the back of the chair he's currently sprawled in. 

"Hurry up, darling. Before they close up, yeah?" 

"Bars here shut down at like four. You've got time." Zayn intercedes. He isn't looking at them, but instead is plucking at his phone. "Let them be."

"I'm almost done." Harry graciously replies, turns his attention back to the clothes in front of him and away from where Louis has left a violet bruise on his skin.

Louis wants to say more, wants to wrap his arms around Harry tight enough he won't think about leaving, that he'll let Louis bring him back to the hotel, back to their bed. But that's selfish and Louis is trying really hard not to be the jealous type. So instead, he loosens his grip, takes a half step back with a lingering kiss to the back of Harry's neck. 

"Be careful tonight."

"Yeah. It's gonna be a quick one, just from the car to the club cause it's late." Harry tugs a pair of black jeans off a hanger, the knees blown out. "You're coming, yes?"

"Was planning on it." Louis raises a pointed eyebrow, watching Harry shimmy into the stretchy fabric, trailing a hand over his ass. It clings to his thighs, sits low on his hips, looks tailored made stretching over him. 

"Cheeky." 

It gets a giggle out of Harry, leaning into the touch and twisting to the side so he can press a lingering kiss to Louis' mouth. It lines them up, makes Louis sway closer, hook his fingers in Harry's beltloops. This close, it tucks him along the curve of his back, and Louis could thrust his hips forward if he really wanted to, make it good, start friction. Harry seems to have the same idea, arching his back to press further, one hand wrapped around the clothing wrack to brace himself.

"Don't start something we can't finish, pet." Louis admonishes gently, still lets his hands move to grip his hips. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Nick turn towards them, his eyes wide as he watches. Liam is talking to him, telling some story, but Nick can't seem to look away, just trails his gaze from Louis down to where Harry is unabashedly grinding on him, arching his back. There is a slight flush to his face, turned darker when Nick watches Louis reaches a hand up along Harry's chest, tweaks a nipple.

"We could. Be quick." Harry leans his head back, moans soft and low into Louis ear. "You still have to shower. We fit before."

“Not enough time.” Louis can feel his cock twitch, spurred on with the way Harry’s moving against him, these small, sharp little drag of his ass, rocking into him like he’s trying to get them there. With a little more time and a few less eyes, Louis would let himself fall into it. 

"Baby. You wanted to dance." It's torture for Louis to step back, gets one good grope of Harry's ass in, before he pulls away completely. "Took me ages to get Paul to agree. Don't waste it, yeah?"

"You promise to dance with me when you get there?" Harry asks, turns around and fuck. He's so lovely, flushed and glassy eyed and a little turned on. Louis has to kiss the warm curve of his cheek. 

"Of course."

Harry only gets another pout in before with a stomp of his bare foot on the concrete, he turns back. Louis has to force himself to turn around, to face the group, and when does, he meets Nick's stare straight on. He's still red faced, still looks a little intrigued with wide eyes and a bitten bottom lip. Louis gives him a sharp, sardonic grin and a quick bird. 

\- - - 

The club is packed by the time Louis and Zayn get shuffled inside. It's incredibly dark, even with the sweeping of the strobe lights, turns everything into sharp relief - just angles and vague shapes. They had pregamed a little in the car, Zayn passing over a water bottle of what must have been Everclear with the way Louis had to grimace through it and now everything feels like too much all at once. Security has a hold of them, large hands on shoulders as they guide them up and through the back entrance, along a flight of acrylic steps and into a VIP booth. Liam is holding court there, arms thrown over the back of the couch, surrounded by a few girls and a group of guys that Louis doesn't recognize.

Someone shoves a shot into his hand, the clear liquid sloshing over his fingers, and he doesn't think before he takes it. That was the whole point in coming out, wasn’t it, to have fun and relax. The vodka burns down the back of Louis throat, makes his tongue feel numb, but it's barely a blip on his radar as he brushes the hood back from his hair. 

"Finally!" Liam booms, waves a hand in greeting like he hadn't seen them nearly an hour ago. "Make it alright, lads?"

"Yeah. S'good." Zayn already has a glass of something cherry colored, the ice floating on the top. He makes sure to pull another towards Louis, raising it in a quick tilt for a toast. Louis takes it gratefully, only wrinkles his nose a little at the taste of sugar over his tongue. It’s never something simple in American clubs, always about four things mixed in a tall glass with fruit and decorations. Louis will take it though, anything to numb him out, to make him feel good and warm. 

Louis is a social guy, likes the energy in the place, wants to get kind of lost in the bass heavy pop music blaring through the speakers. He greets everyone at the table like old friends, shaken hands and smiles, laughing along to the words he can’t really hear but figures are vague assurances. It makes everyone sound a little shrill, shouting to be heard, laughter turned into something musical when it mixes with the heavy beats blaring through the sound system.

Settled now, Louis recognizes Harry's coat thrown over the corner of the booth, sets his own jacket on top, and then feels around in the pockets. Harry's phone is tucked inside of one of them, the screen locked with a picture of the two of them - a secret shot taken by Niall when they had been curled up on the bus. The tea cups in front of them forgotten, Harry's head tucked into Louis neck, just the sunlight spilling over their profiles. It makes him feel warm in a way that the alcohol never will, traces his thumb over the outline of them, before tucking it back in place. He’s forgotten what he was looking for anyways.

"Where's the rest?" Zayn asks the question before Louis can, glancing around as if the other boys are hidden around.

"Dancing." Liam motions a hand over the railing, down to where the main floor is. “Hazza drug them out.”

“Not surprised.” 

Louis finishes his drink, takes another from the waitress with a grin and a wink. If she recognizes him, she doesn't say anything, just ducks her head - easily charmed. He doesn't think much about it as he looks over the edge of the railing, tries to spot anyone familiar in the horde of bodies below. It takes him a minute until he spots Niall, the lights flashing over his blond head. 

He's hopping around more than dancing, his arms thrown over his head, mouth moving to what sounds like a Katy Perry song. Harry is with him, a little more coordinated by not by much, lots of dramatic twirling. The people around them though aren't doing much dancing either, just kind of shaking and bumping into each other, laughing and singing along. It looks fun, kind of spastic really, crammed too close to really do much other than move together. It takes Louis a long moment to recognize that Nick is down there too, finishing their little triangle of flailing limbs. He at least has taken off that fucking monstrosity of a jumper. 

Louis had promised Harry he would go down and dance with him, and he intends to, but Liam is calling his name and Louis just wants to relax. Should let Harry have his fun with his friend. He wants to make a night of it, sink into the booth next to Zayn and Liam and talk about useless, dumb shit. When he’s here, surrounded by strangers, it almost feels like it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter who he is or who they think he is. He can just be and tomorrow go back to the role that’s been designed for him. 

Liam's sent for another round of shots and Louis tears his eyes away from the way Harry's curls look, flipping around in the strobe lights and goes to the table. One round of shots turns into another and then another and then suddenly Zayn is leaning into his side, shoving a glass and another into his palm. 

"What is this?" Louis' mouth feels fuzzy, tongue pressing against his teeth to make sure he can still feel it. He needs to slow down but he kind of doesn't want to. 

"Cherry bomb." A girl in a very sparkly dress answers, leans into Louis' side, her long hair brushing over his shoulder. "Vodka. Redbull. Drop the shot in and chug it." 

"What is it with you Americans and bombs?" Someone asks, a garbled up mess of an accent that Louis can't recognize. They've got a good point though. 

The answer never comes. Someone starts the chanting, counting down from three, and suddenly six of them are dropping bright red shots into a pint glass. The carbonation burns along Louis' throat, the Redbull tasting like battery acid really, and then the cherry comes like a sugary after thought. When he slams his glass down on the table, among the first to do so, the room kind of loses its focus for a second, turns a warm haze. 

The girl in the sparkly dress hands Louis, blessedly, a pint glass of what he assumes is beer. Something to mellow all the liquor, something to be drank slow, or so she explains to him. She gives his shoulder a gentle brush with her nails, but when Louis turns away from her, she lets it go with a polite smile. He thinks about explaining it, maybe choking through a 'you're really pretty but not my type' but she doesn't seem like she needs it. In fact, she barely glances at him when Louis gets up, stumbles towards the railing again.

He just needs to _see_. 

Down below, the dancing has turned a little slower, the song pumping through the speakers turned bass thick and seedy. It thunders loud enough that the walls seem to shake with it, something gritty in the undertone, lyrics silky and tantalizing around the electronic pulse. Louis has to squint in the dark to where he last saw them, leans his elbows on the railing to get a better view of below. In the flashing lights, everyone just blurs together, like a mass of moving parts. 

Finally, Louis’ eyes adjust, catch a flash of blond hair lit up in the strobes. Niall is lost in the arms of two girls, sandwiched between them off to the side. Harry is still where Louis last saw him though, arms thrown above his head, face tilted up towards the ceiling. He's wearing a shirt covered in roses, the fabric shiny in the flashing lights, translucent. It's half open down his chest, held together around his navel with a straining button and then flaring open as he moves. It shows off his skin, all that ink standing out off his milky chest. Louis stares at it, gets caught up in the way the butterfly is twisting as Harry rocks his hips. 

And _fuck_. Harry tosses his head back, mouth open with panting, curls turned wild with sweat. Everything around him is flashing red, blue, green. Harry stands out from it all, an omnipotent deity looking majestic and ethereal. He's drawing eyes, has half the people around him enraptured with the way he's moving his body. Louis thinks he’s falling in love all over again.

It gets cut off though as a hand slides up from Harry's hips, over his stomach, across the embroidered bouquet on his ribs. Nick is pressed up against Harry's back, his head hooked over his shoulder, tucked close. They're moving with the beat, no need to really dance to a song like this. It's more of the sweet, tantalizing press of skin to skin, rolling together as the beat twists deeper and heavier, hips tucked in close. This isn’t dancing. It’s foreplay. They sync up and Harry tilts his head to the side, facing away from Nick for a moment, and grinds back against him in a slow, dirty slide of his hips. 

Louis feels his jaw locking up, feels his teeth grinding together. He tries to remind himself that Harry is probably wasted, is having fun with his friends, deserves to have a carefree night. It doesn’t mean anything. This is supposed to be a release for both of them. But then Nick's mouth moves up, leans into Harry's ear, and his hand slips between the open sides of Harry's shirt. It’s only a moment, a breath of hesitation, before he keeps going, his grip sure just as his mouth ghosts over the Harry’s cheek. He pets over Harry's chest, long fingers brushing the butterfly’s wings and reaches for his nipple under a large embroidered rose.

Louis is moving before he can think about it. 

Vaguely, in the very back of his mind, he kind of remembers he should have told security, done this safely, not cause a scene, but it's too late. Louis' blood is pounding in his ears, fucking livid, can't even get a breath in properly. He's coordinated for being drunk, dashes around people, uses his elbow and a muttered 'scuse me to get around the twisting bodies, the stretched out hands. Where it was easy to spot Harry from above, Louis has to guess in the vague direction he is now that they're on the same level, keeps moving forward even when it feels like too much.

It only takes a few extra minutes, Louis squeezing between two girls in matching sequin tops, and then he sees them. Louis can tell by the way his eyes are shut, flushed from the apples of his cheeks down onto his throat, that Harry is plastered, sweat dripping down his chest. He still has his arms up, rolling with the beat as Nick pets eager hands over his stomach, down onto the low waistband of his jeans, fingertips skirting over his zipper. He’s not kissing Harry’s neck yet, but his mouth lingers there, open and panting against the slick skin. 

"Oi!" Louis lets it rip out of his throat, reaches forward and grips Nick's wrist in sure, tight fingers. It takes a moment for Nick to drag his eyes away from Harry, to recognize who it is. In that moment, Louis shoves as hard as he can, puts his full weight behind it. He wants it to hurt, wants him to feel it, to push against the rage that is bubbling inside of him, begging to spill over. It has Nick stumbling back, toppling into a few guys behind him with the force. 

Startled by the sudden movement, Harry opens his eyes, stops swaying his hips. It’s a slow realization where he connects what he’s seeing and understand, alcohol making his large eyes gleam in the lights, and then his face is breaking out into that dimpled grin as with a drunken squeal, he’s launching himself forward. Louis isn’t expecting it, but he knows Harry well enough to plant his feet, rocks back on his heels. They don’t fall over, just kind of sway together. It’s all warm skin and the fresh scent of Harry’s cologne and Louis gets a little light-headed, overwhelmed by the rush of having his arms full but his head still pounding in anger. 

"Lou!" Harry's arms come down, wrapping quickly around Louis' shoulders and smearing a kiss on his cheek. "You're here! Where have you been? Missed you."

"I've been here, angel." Louis wraps his arm around Harry's waist, has to square his feet again to keep them from swaying too much, Harry uncoordinated and leaning into him. "God, you're wasted."

"Only a little." Harry squints, nose wrinkled up with his lie. “We did tequila shots. Niall wanted to.”

"Mhm." Louis rolls his eyes, doesn't have much room to talk himself. Movement grabs Louis' attention then and he tugs Harry over to the side, still against him. He wants him out of the way as Nick gets his feet back, comes stomping over with an ugly twist of his mouth. 

"What the fuck, Tomlinson?" He's glaring at Louis, his scowl deepening as Harry tucks his head into Louis' shoulder, starts nuzzling into him. "What is your problem?"

"Keep your hands off my boy before I break your fucking face." Louis snarls, feels the alcohol turned warm and sickly in his stomach. He has to ball his hands into fists against Harry's hip, tangles up in the hem of his shirt.

"You're bloody mental." Nick swears, leans forward to shove a hand into Louis' shoulder, knocking him back half a step. "You know everyone calls you an arsehole but fuck."

“But what?” Louis can feel the words getting all garbled in his mouth, accent more pronounced with the aid of anger and alcohol. “I’m dying to know what Nick _fucking_ Grimshaw thinks of me.”

“Fuck you mate.” Nick shakes his head, his voice dipping sharply. “You talk all fucking big. Oh, big boss Louis. Don’t try anything. And for what? So, you can throw some fucking words around? Sick your security guards on me? Fucking man up.” 

"I don't see them. Do you?" Louis makes a wide motion with his hand, scoffing loudly. "Come on Grimshaw. Let's settle it then."

"Don't get fucking twisted." Nick pulls himself to his full height, sways a little with the bodies around him. "You're mad about shit that isn't just my doing. Jealousy is a sick little monster, eh? Takes two though."

"Hey." Harry, having suddenly decided to pay attention, pulls his mouth off of Louis' jaw and turns, looks between them with that slow blink. "Hey, Grimmy, no fighting." 

“Tell your boyfriend to fucking relax then.” Nick's mouth twists into a scowl, pointing between the two of them. “Or is he just a little miffed because it’s finally clicking. Not so perfect, is it Lou?”

“Watch your mouth.” Louis bristles, rolls his shoulders back. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the security guard coming, his mouth drawn down in a thin line. Management is going to kill him, actually kill him, if he ends up on TMZ tonight. 

“Why? Everyone sees it. You're living in a pipe dream.” Nick staggers forward a little, has to lean in to get his voice to raise above the music. He smells like beer, face red and sweaty. "Some behind the scenes romance? A fucking joke. It’s never going to last. You’re mad at me when he’s the who asked for me, invited me all the way across the pond. Begging for it on all those late night phone calls. And where were you, Tommo?”

"Louis." Harry's hands are too warm on Louis' waist, petting over clumsy and tugging. "Hey, come on. Don't start."

"How many times do you leave him alone in your bed?" Nick smirks, that twisting, all knowing and cocky tilt of his mouth. "Pity, mate. Don’t get pissed because I answered him when he asked for it."

It's like someone has poured heat down over Louis' head, trickles slowly down his spine, settled deep in his stomach. The air in his lungs turns to humidity, stifling and thick, suffocating in the way he can’t pull in a breath. Louis' eyes focus for a moment on the sweep of lights over Harry's face, his eyes huge, his full mouth moving over words that Louis can't hear, can’t understand. Because Nick is right over his shoulder, that smirk growing, his shoulders broad, arms spread like he's just giving up basic information. Like he hasn’t fucking ruined everything with his words.

Louis' arm swings, not coordinated, not poised. It's a bitch shot, not planned but a rapid, animalistic response - fueled by wrath and the need to make something hurt. He's waiting for his knuckles to connect, rocks both himself and Harry forward with the force, but then suddenly there is another arm looped through his, yanking him back. Around them, the crowd stumbles away from the scuffle, turning sharply at the commotion. 

"Oi, Lou, no." Tony's huge chest is pressed into Louis' back, tugging him back sharply, nearly lifting his Vans off the floor. "Mate. Stop."

"You fucking cunt." Louis swears, struggles just for a moment, long enough for Harry to get between them, blocking Nick from Louis' vision. 

He's not smiling, mouth still moving rapidly, as he crowds forward, pressing the length of his body against Louis'. Tony is dragging them through the crowd, hand still wrapped around Louis' bicep, doesn't have to work that hard as people move out of the way, glancing towards them as the music keeps going. There may be a flash of a camera, someone crying out in recognition, but Louis can't look to see. He's pressed between them, Harry ducking his head so he can block whoever is watching, and all he can smell is Harry's cologne, feel his shirt against his skin. 

They make it to the back stairs and the music is quieter there, muffled by the thick walls separating the dance floor from the upper deck. Not many people linger when they see them coming, Tony’s broad chest and grim face, Louis stuck against his chest, and then Harry pressed to him, head tilted and hair covering both of their faces. It's only then that the sound comes rushing back, Harry's deep drawl pressed right into his ear. 

"Lou, fuck, what are you doing?" He's hissing, his hands tugging but gentle on Louis' shoulders. "What is wrong with you? You can’t just-"

"What is wrong with me?" Louis wrenches back then, turns his burning gaze up at Harry. "Didn't you hear what he fucking said? What he said about you? About us?"

"I'm only speaking the truth, mate." Nick, fucking Grimshaw, is just over Harry's shoulder, still running his mouth. He doesn't get closer though as Tony steps between them with a grim glare, shaking his head. 

"I think that's enough, yeah?"

They've been shuffled along the hallway, pushed back into their VIP box, away from the general prying crowd. They need to leave, sneak out before anyone gets any bold ideas like coming up here or calling the press. Any photo that was taken downstairs is going to be blurry, skewed with the lights and the way they had been moving. Someone will plant doubt if the photos come out, explain it away as a look-a-like. Harry and Louis couldn’t possibly be in a club together. They hate each other, right? 

The VIP booth is still full, Liam's laughter kind of puttering out on a choke when he takes in the four of them, disheveled and fuming. Niall is coming up the stairs behind them, brow creased, and thankfully by himself. He must have seen the whole thing from the sidelines. Only Zayn meets Louis' eye, brow raised in a question that Louis can't even answer right now. His hands are empty, Harry standing beside him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. And Louis fucking hates it. 

He watches Harry turn towards Nick, ducks his head down so he can mutter to him over the music. Nick isn’t bold enough to touch him, but he does lean in, glances only once at Louis like he’s confirming they’re being watched. Like he’s getting off on it. Harry is talking quickly, his head inclined forward and it makes his hair sweep across his cheeks, curls still unruly from dancing and sweat. With delicate fingers, he tucks it behind his ear, brow furrowed by whatever Nick is saying quickly to him, gesturing with his hands. And Louis fucking hates that too. 

He shuffles forward, picks up one of the half empty glasses on the table, knocks it back. He doesn't even want it, but he takes it down, tries to get his mouth from burning with all the words he hasn't gotten to say. It's not like Louis, to lose his temper like that, violent and aggressive. But there is this nasty little bug chewing away at the back of his brain, fueled by what Nick said, and it’s ruining everything. Breaking down every rational response Louis can have. 

Did Harry call him at night? When Louis was being forced to go out? When Louis wasn't there against him? Did Harry cry down the line to Nick? Did he invite him here for something more than just a friendly visit?

"Let's go." 

Tony is barking orders, pushing people towards the stairs. There is no chance of anyone following them back to the hotel tonight and Louis realizes suddenly that he's going to be shoved into an SUV with Zayn, can't be seen leaving with Harry. As soon as he knows it, Harry is sliding up against him, holding both of their coats. Tony doesn’t even try to wedge an arm between them, just gives him a weary look. 

"Come on, honey." Harry is worrying his bottom lip again, hands gentle on Louis' arm, leans in to tangle their fingers. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah." Louis can't help agreeing, feels like he's walking through a fucking haze as they're being led down. 

Surprisingly, no one tries to separate them at the bottom of the stairs, just form a wall around them as they make their way back through the club. They go out the way Louis and Zayn came in, through the long back hallway, down into the alley. There are no cameras here, no one shouting for them. Instead, it's just quick feet and murmured instructions and then Harry and Louis are being pushed into a suburban, the door shutting behind them, leaving them blissfully alone in the quiet interior. Even the driver up front has a partition between the front seats, leaving them to their own. 

They've just pulled out onto Broadway, driving for over five minutes uptown, before Harry moves in his seat, sends Louis a worried glance. 

"Louis, honey." He starts, his fingers flexing against Louis' palm. "Please."

"Are you happy?" Louis could snap, could be harsh and brittle in his tone, but instead it comes out like a whisper. He's too tired to be tough anymore, hurt and furious. "With me? With this?"

"Of course I am." Harry blinks rapidly. He's still drunk, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, but it looks like he's sobering. Probably the frigid New York air. "Why would you- Why would you even ask me that?"

"He was all over you." Louis' tone shifts, just a hint of a bite to it. "He's been all over you since he got here. And you just let him."

"Grimmy's just tactile." Harry tries to shrug, dismiss it. "He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Didn't you hear anything he said?" Shifting, Louis drags his eyes away from Harry, away from what he fears is the real truth. 

"No. The music was too loud and I'm-" Harry rubs awkwardly at his nose. "But whatever it is was, it's not-"

"Everything is just shit. All the time. Even when we're alone. Someone is always fucking there."

Louis kicks his foot out towards the front seat, connects with the consol. The driver doesn't flinch behind the glass, just turns on his blinker as he merges into traffic. He's probably being followed by another car with security. 

"Hey, honey, stop." Harry slides over on the leather seat, touches Louis' shoulder, his jaw. "Is this really about that or is this about Nick?"

"It's about everything!" Louis' shouts then, can't stay quiet even as Harry settles that worried stare on him. "It's about wanting too much and having too much and fucking never being alone with you. And Grimshaw's hands and his mouth all over you."

"He wasn't-" Harry tries to interject, shaking his head, but Louis can't stop. 

“It’s fucking torture, Haz. The worst. Wanting you, wanting to be with you, to tell everyone how in love I am with you, and not being allowed. Watching them touch you and I’m just there.” Louis’ voice is still high, cracking on the words. “I just stand there and watch everyone else have you when I can’t.”

“Don’t you think I feel the same way?” Harry asks, desperate and quick, like he can’t get the words out fast enough. “Louis, you’re not in this alone. I want you all the time, want you near me, to be with you. We both-“

"Do you call him? When I'm not there?" Louis cuts him off, flinches at the way his voice comes out, rough and crackling. 

"I mean, yeah, to chat but-" It seems to dawn on Harry all at once, who turns suddenly somber, his hands slipping off Louis' neck. His face gets lit up by the passing of skyscrapers and headlights, all of New York City ablaze, but it's dull compared to the way Harry's eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Is that what you think? What you think of me?"

"I-" Louis struggles and _fuck_. Why did he drink so much? Everything feels like it's either spewing out of his mouth or locked behind a wall, can't get out. And this is important. Whatever he's about to say needs to be the right thing. "I don't want to lose you."

"Lose me? Honey, what are you talking about?" Harry's brow furrows, shaking his head softly. It rustles his curls against his cheek and Louis brushes them away before he thinks about it, cups Harry's jaw.

"I love you. _So fucking much_." Louis murmurs, lets his gaze track over Harry's beautiful face. And god, he could stare at him all day, spend hours memorizing the shape of his mouth, his long nose, the hidden dimple in his cheek. "And the thought of you wanting anyone else, or feeling like you have to find someone else to make you happy, kills me."

"Lou." Harry sniffles a little, leans forward like he can't stop himself, kisses Louis' mouth tenderly. It's just a warm press of lips on lips but it feels like more, like something profound. "Don't think that. Please honey. It’s never going to happen. I'm never going to want anyone else. I never have. Just you."

"But-" Louis tries to protest, tries to bring back some of that resolve he had gained when he saw the way Nick's hands had fit over Harry's skin. 

"You're all I've ever wanted." Harry's deep voice cracks a little, gets lost in the way he continues to press these little kisses against Louis' mouth. "Forever. It's always been you."

Louis could probably think of more words to say, could protest, but it's so much easier to give in. He just wants this, wants to have Harry here, away from expectations and from prying eyes. Just the two of them. He wants it all. To get caught up and lost in the feeling of Harry against him, his hands on Louis' neck, down over his chest. Harry tastes like sugar, like alcohol, and a bit of mint and Louis teases his tongue along the roof of his mouth, retraces the familiar curves and dips against his teeth. 

"Promise me." Harry pants, pulling back enough to breathe the words against Louis' now bruised lips. "Promise me you won't think that. Louis, you have to know. I love you. I've loved you since I was sixteen."

"I know baby. I know. I love you. I’m sorry."

And Louis does. Of course he does. No matter what, it's always been the two of them. Joined by the hands and by the heart, up against everything. To prove everyone wrong. To whether any storm. Louis traces his free hand slowly over Harry's left arm, fingertips caressing over familiar ink, of the marks they've left on each other - proclaiming in their own way what this love means. 

Harry ducks his head so he can kiss Louis' palm, leans into to the touch, keeps his eyes on Louis' face when he slips Louis' thumb between his lips. Where before it was tender, heart wrenching, the air suddenly shifts into something else. Louis can feel the heart resettle in his chest, turned writhing and festering, in the way Harry's long eyelashes brush his cheeks staring at him with intent. 

" _Darling._ " Louis exhales slowly, presses forward so his thumb compresses Harry's tongue down, opens his mouth just a little. "What-"

"Wanna make you feel good. Wanna make this better. Need to." Harry murmurs, pulls back enough to speak before he takes his finger back in, sucks enough that his cheeks hallow. 

"Fuck. Harry, baby." Louis hisses, fans the rest of his fingers out over Harry's jaw. It lets him feel it when Harry moans, tracing slowly along the edge of Louis’ thumb, along the curve of his knuckle. He’s sucking now, these dizzying little pulls like it’s a precursor to something else. Desperately, Louis uses his free hand to wrap around his waist, pull them closer along the back seat, sliding along the leather. He always wants Harry right here, against him, in front of him, all to himself. It doesn't seem to be enough though as Harry wiggles closer, throws his leg over Louis’ lap, moves up to straddle him. 

There is no way the driver hasn’t noticed, especially with Harry’s broad shoulders blocking the back window, head tilted down. He’s wise enough not to comment though, keeps driving evenly over the busy streets. Outside, a thousand people are rushing around, oblivious to what is happening behind the tinted windows of the SUV. It’s just for them.

Louis’ fingers slip along the shiny, soft fabric of Harry’s shirt, finally eases the few buttons open, pushing the sides out of the way. Harry is still a little sweaty from the club, stomach tensing as Louis moves forward, trails his mouth from Harry’s neck to his chest, down over to lick along the butterfly wings. He could spend hours here, tracing over ink and teasing, enticing all those delicious, breathy moans out of him when Louis’ tongue trails over his nipple. Harry lets out a sharp moan at that, turned deeper when Louis' teeth drag over the nub, biting enough to tug - a sharp little pinch in the middle of all the pleasure.

Rocking forward, Harry’s knees spread further on the backseat, settle his ass down onto Louis’ thighs. He's already straining up against his zipper, one long line of heat, tilted a little to the left. The motion of the car makes it difficult, separated by denim and fabric, but Harry doesn’t seem that deterred. He grips his hand on the back of the seat, rocks down so his hard cock grinds up against Louis’, friction rough and delicious. 

“Baby.” Falling back against the leather, Louis trains his face up, watches the way Harry is still suckling at him, eyes hazy and dark. “Fuck, look at you.”

He drags his thumb out just far enough to trace along Harry’s bottom lip, watches the way it’s turned puffy and so, so pink. It’s enticing, lewd even, the way Harry falls open under the touch, panting and letting out these tiny, desperate mewls, as Louis feeds it back to him, lets himself press deep. Harry doesn’t recoil, just grinds down harder, starts twisting so it's better, gets them lined up proper. He's getting desperate for it, eyes half lidded and glassy when they meet Louis'. 

Wiggling his hand between them, Louis teases his fingers along Harry's waistband, tucked just behind the denim. He's so warm here, skin tacky with sweat, and Louis wants him so much it's suffocating. Popping open the button, he lets fingers slip further in as the zipper slides down, touches bare skin and the soft curls at the base of Harry's cock. He isn't wearing any pants, bare skin and heat between his legs, and just as Louis goes to draw him out, the car rolls to a stop. 

The door opens only a moment later, the bright lights of the hotel entrance way scattering into the car. It's only blinding for a moment before Tony is standing there, his mouth turned down into a disappointed but not surprised scowl. He’s got the prescience of mind to step forward, body sandwiched up against the doorway, head ducked in a little to block anyone behind who might be trying to peak in.

“Gentlemen, really? Couldn’t wait ten minutes?” He asks, keeps his head up and staring at Louis. Like it’s Louis’ fault when Harry is the one taking his sweet time pulling Louis’ thumb out of his mouth, groaning under his breath. 

“It was like fifteen.” 

Harry falls to the side, lets Louis grab their coats, goes to follow him out when Tony clears his throat. He drops his gaze only for a moment, before his broad face flushes brightly, staring up at the ceiling of the interior. 

"Haz, some discretion, yeah?"

"What?" Harry asks, blinks confused between the security guard and his boyfriend, half sprawled on the seat. Louis can't keep back his laugh, shaking his head as he reaches over, manages to pull the waistband of Harry's jeans shut, buttoning him back in and then at least doing the bottom few on his shirt. 

"Let's not make the Sun's front page, yeah?" Louis teases, presses a tender kiss to Harry's mouth. 

"I wasn't showin' anything important." Harry mutters, but he doesn't comment again as he follows Louis out, makes quick steps over the sidewalk and into the lobby. 

They've all arrived at the same time, and security is quick to usher them through the empty entry way, herding them to the set of elevators. It's rare that they manage to get inside without anyone really noticing, kind of a big group when counting all five boys plus security plus handlers, but it's late, and so Louis ends up in a lift with no screaming and no flashing lights. 

It's deadly silent in the elevator as the doors shut and Louis only has a moment to lean his head back against the polished wall, take a slow breath, before Harry is all over him again. He tucks in close, bends his knees a little to get his mouth up against Louis' throat, licking and biting at the skin. They're still on tour, have a show tomorrow, so Harry knows better than to leave big marks. He's mostly just playing at this point, gets his warm fingers under Louis' shirt, pets over his hips. 

Louis has gotten over the embarrassment of heavy PDA, has gotten used to stolen kisses in elevators, behind a camera, a heavy hand surrounded by security. It's not any different as he leans further back into the wall, lets Harry's slick mouth fill the room, panting a little. It's between one open mouthed kiss and Harry ducking back down, that Louis looks across the space and meets Nick's gaze. 

Of course he is staying in the same fucking hotel they are. Of course he fucking came back with them. Louis isn't naive enough to believe the problem was over just because Harry and him confessed their undying love to each other again. No, Nick is staring at them with wide eyes, mouth twisted into a weird mix between a grimace and a smirk. 

A dark, deep part of Louis doesn't hate this. He wants Nick to see, wants him to fucking know. Know that he's the reason Harry is a panting mess right now, desperate and horny, writhing against him in a packed elevator in front of four other men. That Harry will follow him into their hotel room, that it will be Louis' name he's calling later. 

Louis trails his hand up, gets it all tangled up in Harry's messy curls, tugs a little to hear Harry's breath catch. It's so loud in the elevator, the others around them barely flinching. They're used to it, but to Nick, this is new. He trails his eyes down where Harry's shoulders are flexing, his hands hidden between them. He's trying to wedge his fingers under Louis' waistband, intent on getting to his prize. 

Louis doesn't look away from Nick, keeps his hands firm and petting over Harry. He wonders, distantly and intoxicating, if he pushed if Harry would drop to his knees. Would Harry even care, drunk and writhing? Louis knows he has a bit of an exhibition kink, likes the idea of getting caught, would do anything that Louis asked him to. Would he get on his knees for Louis while Nick looked on, furious and knowing it was something he never could have?

He doesn't have a chance to really entertain the thought. The lift is dinging and suddenly Harry and Louis are being pushed out, Tony already at their door with the key. Louis takes just a moment, just as Harry gets his jeans open, to turn back to the elevator. He stares right at Nick, smirking with sharp teeth as he flips him off, lets the doors slide shut on the image of Harry's hand slipping into his pants. 

As soon as the hotel room door shuts, Louis forgets about everything but the man before him. Harry is shedding clothes like it's a competition, reaching for first Louis' shirt and then his own, uncoordinated fingers scrambling over the small, black buttons. Louis hears fabric ripping, the loud shred of it, but he can't look because suddenly Harry is shuffling against him, crowding him against the wall. 

"Easy baby. Easy. I've got it." Louis pushes Harry's hands out of the way, pops the button on his jeans again, helps Harry pull the denim down his thighs. They're tight enough they left sharp red lines along his thighs and Louis traces his fingers over them, uses them as a guide as he settles his hands on his hips, pins him back against the wall. 

"Look at you, angel." Louis murmurs, reverent and slow, as he traces up Harry's hip, over the laurels, over the soft curve of his stomach. "Fuck. Love to look at you. My perfect baby. So pretty when you’re eager like this. Already so wet for me."

He teases his fingers along Harry's cock, the head dewy as it leaves little wet patches over his stomach. All it takes is for Louis' nail to tease at the slit and Harry is whimpering, trying to arch into the touch, legs coming apart. 

"Can't wait. Please." Harry murmurs, tugs on Louis' shirt, pulls it up and up until Louis lets him take it off. "Come on. Need to feel you."

They end up toppling onto the bed, still a little too drunk to be that coordinated as Louis kicks his jeans off until they land somewhere across the room. It's all wandering hands and mouths then, rolling back and forth on the mattress. Louis sucks a mark just below his bird on Harry's chest, lets it match the rest all over his skin this one vicious and dark. It'll take days to fade, a lasting reminder that Harry will have to button his shirt or beg concealer off Lou. 

Curled up on their sides Louis drags Harry's thigh over his hip, fits them together so he can get a hand around them. The strokes are a little too dry, tugging roughly on them even as Harry leaks all over his fingers. He ends up having to crane his head down, spits down on his moving fist, only for Harry to groan and roll into it. Louis knows he thinks it's dirty, a little too much, but he doesn't pull away, if anything, Harry starts thrusting against him faster. 

Louis would love to take his time, would love to get his fingers inside of him, open him up slow and wide. Nothing better than watching Harry lose his mind while Louis’ cock is inside of him, fucking him deep into some hotel mattress. But they’re already moving too fast, too close, and Louis doesn’t want to do it quick, a drunk fumble. When he takes Harry apart, he wants to be sober enough to remember every moment of it. 

It's sloppy and fast then, panting into each other's mouths as tongues press and tease between lips. But it's so fucking good. It's not about coordination or the performance, but instead, it's a base need - a feral kind of longing for intimacy. There will be marks tomorrow, sore muscles, bruised skin, but neither of them care, careening togethers towards the end. 

Harry comes first, so fucking loud, wailing Louis' name as his dry fingers play with Harry's rim, a promise. He tosses his head back with it, curls scattering over the duvet, a halo against the white. They didn't even manage to get far enough up to get on the pillows, so Louis drags his stubble along Harry's throat when he comes a few moments later, knows he leaves a burn behind by the way Harry's cock twitches in his hand. They’re sprawled flat together, legs curled up along the bottom of the mattress.

In the aftermath, the room settles into just the staccato of their panted breath, of the soft sound of skin on skin and sheets. Neither of them try to roll apart, legs and arms and mouths tangled up in a mess of just constantly needing to be closer. If they could sink into one another, they would, intertwined so ink matches up, tangled and still writhing a little in the after shocks. 

"Fuck." Harry is whimpering a little, has his face tucked into Louis' throat. “So good.”

"Yeah. Perfect. Always is." Louis agrees, isn't even sure he can form more coherent thoughts. All he can focus on is the feeling of Harry's back under his hands, the sticky mess between them. 

Reaching down, he tangles their hands, brings Harry's up to his mouth, kisses the ring wrapped around his middle finger. It's the first one, the original one. The word imprinted on it a promise. No matter what, that they will always be each other's peace, the calm in the eye of the storm, a sanctuary and oasis where everything is good and safe and calm.

"Love you." Harry murmurs, nudges his nose against Louis' jaw. 

"Love you most."

When everything else feels like it's falling apart, Louis knows this promise will never be broken. He can believe in this, can trust in this, _can trust and believe in them._

\- - - 

The next morning, Nick Grimshaw sits with Niall and Liam for breakfast. He's got dark circles under his eyes and when he sees Louis and Harry come into the room, holding hands, he only makes a small nod of acknowledge to Louis before turning back to his eggs. 

And if Louis finds out later that Zayn switched rooms with him so Nick was next door last night, well, Zayn has always been Louis' favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](https://thedevilinmybrain.tumblr.com/) and come say hi


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